


Caring for Us.

by fiveroundsrapid



Category: Holby City
Genre: Berena remix, Caring, F/F, Five Times Plus One, Fluff, slight angst, sorry folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 15:26:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20837780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiveroundsrapid/pseuds/fiveroundsrapid
Summary: My submission for Berena Remix 2019. Inspired by My Baby Just Cares For Me by HartKins. So, this is a "5 times Bernie & Serena cared for each other and 1 time they didn’t" - and it's all set after Bernie returns "from the dead".





	Caring for Us.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HartKins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HartKins/gifts).
  * Inspired by [My Baby Just Cares For Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17103116) by [HartKins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HartKins/pseuds/HartKins). 

** _Care for Me._ **

  
**I.**

Serena can scarcely believe it when Bernie is pronounced alive. When a Jane Doe soldier, dehydrated and malnourished is rushed to Holby Hospital, so delirious she had to be placed in a coma to stop her scratching at her sunburnt and injured skin. There is elation, everywhere, on every ward. But Bernie doesn’t wake. Serena stitches up the wounds, the needle going in and out with the lightest yet most precise movements. Her skin is bathed, and hair brushed; by either one of Bernie’s children or Serena herself. Slowly, Bernie Wolfe starts looking as if the horrors she endured, 6 months in a rebel camp, were nothing. Just angrier scars to add to those bisecting her chest, and on her neck. Another few to add to the roster, against her forearms, on the level of her caesarean scar, caused from bindings. Serena doesn’t ask what made them. What made Bernie like that. Cameron does. He asks and asks and rails against the army for ever giving up, though it’s directed inwards as well, for all of them. The funeral seeming like a bad dream now Bernie lies on clean sheets as if by magic.

Serena  **cares ** for her as much as she can. Hardly sleeps. Hardly breathes, should she miss anything and lies in wait in the hospital chair. She brings her knitting, watches visitors like a guard dog and triple-checks every one of her observation notes. Some worry for her. Some are happy for her. Cameron lets her get on with it. He takes the other chair as much as he can. Sometimes the two just lay vigil for hours, in silence, watching the rise and fall of Bernie’s chest. Serena has already resolved to never take Berenice Wolfe for granted. She fears that Bernie could be taken away at any time; wake up and cast her aside, run away to another dangerous place, or to Alex. No one has told Alex. Serena doesn’t care about Alex, not now.

Eventually, it’s time to wake her up. Serena doesn’t know whether to be there. Whether her time is over, and she should leave. In the end, it’s Cameron who asks her to stay, to hold his hand. He says his mum would like to see Serena. Serena doesn’t care that it might not be true. She just holds his hands as Bernie’s eyes flicker open.

Bernie lets out a cry, starts thrashing, disorientated and in shock. Serena can’t help but lurch forwards to soothe, to touch, to help her calm down. Their eyes meet fiercely. Serena’s are welling up and Bernie’s are just so brown and so wide that it’s like no one else is there.

“You’re okay. Bernie! It’s fine. Look at me. Look at me, you’re fine.” Serena smiles, encouraging Bernie to lay back down onto the pillows, knowing every limb must hurt. They say doctors make the worst patients. She’s counting on Bernie to be the worst. “It’s all going to be fine now.”

**II.**

They’re hesitant towards each other. Both Serena and Bernie are towing the line, both knowing how much it hurts should things go wrong between them now. They’ve both faced life without each other. Still, Bernie’s been ‘home’ for two months now, and they’re tried to start things up again. Alex was a misunderstanding, a mistake and all explained after a good couple of bottles have been shared between them.

But there’s never been a shortage of love. They can’t stay apart, it’s like something invisible that ties them together. It’s how Bernie, out for a light run, ends up outside of Holby. She knows she’s meant to see Serena tonight, but now she’s here, she can’t help but look in. Maybe she’ll catch Cam on his break, or maybe Serena herself. Either way, it’d be nice to see old friends.

Bernie resorts to familiar patterns. She goes to Pulses, still a little jarred by the green revamp, and gets two coffees, and a biscuit for her son. Then it’s a familiar trek to AAU, though not in scrubs or even jeans today. Instead, she’s wearing her lycra running outfit. Leggings cut off at her calves to show her ankles. Her trainers are the same; battered, bruised and unbranded. Her hoodie is tied at the waist, no longer the plush grey of Holby City but a svelte, thin, black one. Then it’s just a simple vest top, and her hair tied up behind her. Bruises are still there from Mogadishu, and her body aches, but she had had to get running again.

Bernie knocks on the door of the office and Serena answers, wafting her in with an arm and giving her a warm, delighted smile. Bernie can see she’s tired and spies the large pile of paperwork that she’s no doubt been snowed under by. 

“Coffee?” Bernie offered.

“Always.” Serena took it with a grateful smile, sitting back down at her chair and taking off the lid, letting the steam rise. She took in a deep breath, and sighed. Bernie smirked, moving to sit down on the sofa, crossing her legs and leaning back. She looked down at her own cup, lid still on, nails playing with the lip of it.

“They’ve offered me a locum position.” Bernie looked up at her partner. “Here.”

“Bernie, I’m not sure-” Serena started to say.

“Serena.” Bernie stopped her.

“Sorry. Sorry.” Serena backed down. It had been a topic of much conversation. Serena thought it was too soon to return to work, only for Bernie to argue that she was nothing if not a quick healer. It was only because Serena cared. Bernie knew that and loved her for it. But she needed to do this, and so was quick to assure Serena.

“It’s just a few days here and there. Nothing major, and I’m getting my physio every week,” she explained, before taking a sip of her coffee. Bernie could see Serena’s shoulders soften, her body relaxing as the news sank in. The transition back into this had been difficult for them both. Still, Serena was eyeing her critically. “-along with the, um, therapy for the PTS. I’m fit to work.”

“Did you run here?” Serena cut in.

“Why?” Bernie asked, already suspecting where this was going. She attempted to straighten her back, which spasmed in protest.

“From my place?” Serena’s left eyebrow went up. Bernie took a swig from her cup.

“The physio said to keep active.”

“Bernie, it’s miles!”

“I know! I’ve done it before.” Bernie protested. Serena rolled her eyes.

“Not after near-death, you haven’t!” She huffed, not out of any real anger, but simply because of the bone-headed stubbornness of the woman she’d fallen in love with. Another critical look over Bernie, this time with every attempt not to enjoy watching her in skin-tight fabric. She saw Bernie twitch in the seat, obviously uncomfortable. Right, only one thing for it, Serena thought. “How’s your back?”

“You don’t have to…” Bernie tried as Serena stood up and offered her chair to the blonde. Serena smiled, against all intention, at her brave macho army medic’s wish to suffer in silence, but she patted the seat of her office chair. This woman was going to get a massage for her back now, before she took a taxi home.

“Yes, I do, because I love you and I  **care ** for you. Now close the blinds, lock the door and take your top off.”

**III.**

Bernie’s been busy moving in boxes all day. Moving in, properly. Serena’s been on shift and only came back a few hours ago. They’d said hello, Bernie had made coffee, and then Serena had set about with tea whilst Bernie unpacked her clothes up in Serena’s-  _ their _ \- bedroom. Now it was time for food. Bernie’s stomach growled as her feet, clothed in fluffy socks, padded down the stairs and to the dining room, mouth-watering. She stopped short in the doorway. 

“Serena, you’ve made enough food to feed an army!” She cried out, looking down at the veritable  _ buffet  _ spread out on the dining table. Serena was just putting down the bread and butter next to the rice, curry, the green leaf salad, naan bread, another sort of rice and a quiche. A quiche?

“So?” Serena had an apron tied around her waist. One which, in the three or so years of knowing Serena, Bernie had never  _ ever  _ seen. Bernie entered the room, casting a suspicious eye over the food. Only two places set. No random visit from a certain nephew and his family. Not that Jason even liked curry as far as Bernie was aware.

“So… you don’t cook!” To be truthful, neither of them did. Fish and chip night had become a staple for a reason. Bernie had become far too adaptable to army rations to really care about food, and Serena worked so hard that a microwave meal for one was more her forte than anything else. Serena, under Bernie’s watched, flushed.

“You’re not on a diet, are you?” She bristled, and Bernie frowned, not sure what exactly warranted that response. It was surprise, not criticism levelled at her partner. 

“No, but that’s not the point-” Bernie began, sitting down.

“Well then, eat.” Bernie knew better than to argue. Serena began bustling, opening the wine and poured them both a healthy dose. She kept glancing over to Bernie, who had stood to serve, and then pretending not to have when Bernie caught her as she filled up her own plate, and added bits to Serena’s as well. Serena put some of the vegetables onto Bernie’s plate as Bernie sat back down.

“This is my favourite meal.”

“I’m aware.” Serena undid her apron and placed it on an empty chair. She took her seat and then a big gulp of Shiraz from her wine glass.

“Have I missed something?” It wasn’t a birthday, an anniversary, some sort of occasion that warranted this? Everything was still a bit muddled, she’d had a lot on to start any sort of calendar or diary. It was a skill at times for her just to remember to get coffee with Charlotte. 

“Nope.”

“Serena…” Bernie warned, a little fed up. She wanted to heap praise on Serena for the meal, and say how lovely it was, but Serena was being shifty, and Bernie wanted answers first. Serena met Bernie’s gaze, and huffed.

“Fine! Fine! You need it.” She speared a carrot stick angrily. 

“What?” Bernie asked, bewildered, her own knife and fork still resting on the table, untouched. Serena crunched on the carrot, and began to wave her fork around and at Bernie, up and down, gesturing.

“I was concerned… about your weight.” Serena finished, swallowing, looking a little bit embarrassed. Bernie melted.

“Ah.” 

“You’ve always been slim. Too slim for your ego, if you ask me, but ever since you got back…”

“With the recovery and everything…”

“You’ve lost some muscle mass.” There it was, out in the open. Bernie had lost weight, and that was a worry. She needed to build it up, and as well as her runs are god knows o’clock in the morning, a healthy and rich and full diet was also a part of that. She needed to eat well, especially if she was going to be coming back to work full time rather than her part-time work now. You can’t very well faint on an OR floor. It’s undignifying. So, Serena had been cautious. She knew that Bernie liked Middle Eastern food, so had acted accordingly. Hence… the buffet. “Perfectly normal, of course, given everything that happened.”

“So you’re… what, trying to fatten me up?”

“Sounds so crass when you put it like that.” Serena tore up her naan bread. Bernie rolled her eyes, fondly, when Serena wasn’t looking, before getting up and off of her chair and moving round to Serena, who looked up, just in time for Bernie to kiss her sweetly. One, twice, three times. Bernie pulled away, both of them flushed.

“Thank you.” She breathed.

“What for?” Serena was a bit dazed after that display. Maybe she should serve two sorts of rice more often. Bernie’s ears went pink, and she shrugged, a little shy, but wholly smug.

“**Caring**.” And with that, Bernie plucked a piece of naan bread from Serena’s plate with a cheeky wink, sat back down at their table and happily tucked into her favourite meal. It would only be when they were cosied up in the sitting room, watching the telly and finishing a box of After Eights left from Christmas, that Serena would say that every component was a ready meal version of some kind. Even the carrot sticks.

**IV.**

It turns out that after everything; after warzones and explosions, and near-death, it’s not Bernie that has trouble sleeping at night but Serena who struggles. Nightmares were not uncommon to her. During Bernie’s initial disappearance, she could usually count on one hand the number of hours she got, and it was worse when Elinor had died. Now there is one that comes again and again.

Bernie wakes up to hear Serena moaning in her sleep. Her face contorted in pain. Bernie knew the expression from the first few months after Elinor had gone. Even with the sleeping pills, even with the lavender pillows, it had done no avail. Bernie could remember nights herself not sleeping, watching Serena’s face for any signs of pain. Or just to remember Serena’s face when it wasn’t in pain. Now, she’s moving, switching on the bedside lamp next to them. Serena is still all but smothered in the duvet, her hair tousled from moving around, her arms up on the pillow rather than peacefully by her sides as they had been. Bernie shakes her, just a little, by one hand on her shoulder.

“Serena? Serena!” She hisses out in a forced whisper. She hates seeing Serena like this. Thinks it some sort of cruel joke that it’s Serena who should suffer from nightmares, and not her. Bernie can brave them. Has braved them. Does brave them. But not to this frequency. And usually, Serena being there is enough to keep them at bay. 

“Please!” Serena cries out, eyes still shut closed, mouth twisted in a grimace. 

“Serena! Serena, it’s okay. I’m here. It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Bernie reaches over to envelop Serena in her arms, hugging her close to her body as Serena’s breathing gets more and more erratic, teetering on the edge of wakefulness. Again, she crushes Serena to her, rubbing her hand up and down her back as Serena clings back just as fiercely to Bernie.

“B-Bernie.” She’s awake. Bernie bites her lip and nods, adjusting her spot in the bed to see Serena in the glare of the bedroom light, to check that the panic has dissolved. She’s met with emotional eyes staring back, full to the brim with sadness, shock and surprise at Bernie being with her, being here. It’s enough to break Bernie’s heart. 

“That’s right. You’re okay, Serena.”

“Oh God.” Serena sobs into Bernie’s shirt, her fist full of fabric as Bernie peppers kisses onto the crown of her head. They both settle back against the mattress, entwined in each other. 

“I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere, ever again.” Her eyes well up; Bernie doesn’t need to ask Serena what the dream was. They’ve had that talk. The dream is always the same: Serena waking up to an empty bed, with a memorial leaflet for Bernie on the pillow, and the loss hits her again and again and again. It’s brutal and abstract and it wakes Serena every time with a scream of Bernie’s name on her lips. Serena turns in her arms, her back to Bernie's front.

“Hold me, Bernie.”

“I’ve got you.” Bernie cuddles into Serena, burrowing her face into the back of her neck, breathing her in. Their legs drawn up, ankles crossed and feet flirt with each other as they settle back down. Serena’s hands are over Bernies, who as her all but tied around Serena’s waist. She’s not letting go. She will  **care ** for Serena best she can, whether it’s in sleep or in work. She’ll care for life. 

**V.**

Serena gets home to a surprise. They’ve been living together February, Serena having asked her on Valentines’ Day. It hasn’t been without its challenges, but she’s happy. They both are. Blissfully so. Bernie floats from hospital to hospital, lending her trauma surgeon skills wherever is in the most need of them. It’s fulfilling, and it quiets Bernie’s restless streak. Now she can come home to Serena and they can talk about their days, about the staff and the patients over a glass of wine. It’s everything they both dared to dream. 

She can’t find Bernie. That’s the first thing. It’s Bernie’s day off, and Serena’s just finished a night shift. Part of her had hoped to find Bernie still in bed, so Serena could join her, to snuggle and sleep and… other things. But there was no sign. No sound. Serena called out to no answer, but then went to have a shower, figuring Bernie would be somewhere.

It’s not until Serena is downstairs again, her hair freshly towelled and a pair of pyjamas on her, despite it being a humid one in the afternoon, that Serena hears Bernie. She quickly abandons her coffee-making and goes into the conservatory, so the words get louder.

Bernie’s swearing. Cussing, loud and clear and Serena picks up her pace to see Bernie all but crawling out of the flowerbed. Well, what had once been a flowerbed. What Bernie was planning on being a flowerbed again. She could see a fair amount had already been done. A bag was full of weeded plants and bramble cuttings on the grass. Bernie spotted Serena as she stood up.

“When was the last time you weeded this place. Jesus!” Bernie looked back at where she had crawled through and stretched upwards, clicking her back. It gave time for Serena to get out of the conservatory, and padding over the grass, in her slippers, taking in the scene. Bernie was in a white vest top and bicycle shorts. Her knees were red and sore looking. Minor cuts on Bernie's forearms, presumably from the brambles. 

“What-?” Serena starts, taken a little bit aback. How was she meant to know about the weeding? She barely used this garden! They'd agreed to do it up sometime in the future, but they'd not gone into any more specifics than that. She _certainly_ hadn't been expecting to find half her garden pulled up and dug up. Bernie hadn't said anything; just that her plans had been errands. How was landscaping the garden a bloody errand? But Bernie's too wound up, glaring back at the plants that have dared crossed her.

“Bloody nettles!” She yells, and Serena knows there is no point getting into any sort of spat about the garden. It was a mess anyhow. She rolls her eyes, finally understanding what has made Bernie's knees so red. She can already see the characteristic rash forming. Poor Bernie. It was never fun, especially an area of that size. All up and down both legs. Added to the dirt and bramble scratches. Not fun.

“Come in. Come on, I’ve got some lotion somewhere.” Serena fusses like a mother hen. Bernie pouts and glares once more at the nettles before plodding behind Serena back into the house.

“Trust me to bloody fall into brambles,” Bernie muttered as she sat down at the kitchen island and pawed at her legs, rubbing her hands up and down them. Serena swatted at her hands. She should leave it alone.

"Why were you on the floor?" She asked, and Bernie flushed, clearly annoyed with herself. It was hard for Serena to think of her as anything other than a kicked puppy. All big brown eyes and shame.

“My back seized and I went down,” Bernie answered, glum. Luckily, Serena was heading out to the bathroom, to grab the medicine in question, so Bernie didn't see Serena hold back her laughter. Oh, bless her. She'd get a massage later when her legs felt better. Serena opened the medicine cabinet in the main bathroom and got ou the lotion in question, as well as some cotton wool pads to apply it with.

She went back into the kitchen, to see Bernie had moved to quickly make them both a coffee from the kettle Serena had boiled earlier. They shared a smile as a thank you, before Bernie sat back on her perch, legs extended, toes pointed for Serena's inspection.

“What are you doing?” Serena asked as she readied a towel underneath should any lotion drop. Bernie's feet wiggled in their trainers. It was obviously causing considerable discomfort.

“Getting started on the garden…” Bernie answered, bashfully. Serena gave a small huff. She didn't want her to feel like the garden was a bit thing or something that she had to do. Bernie was still getting used to being back in civilisation, there was no need. 

“We've barely spoken about the garden." Serena eyed the nettle stings critically. She decided to go from the bottom upwards with the lotion and applied the lotion to one of the cotton pads before swiping it against Bernie's right ankle. Bernie hissed.

“I, um, found my old journal. In the back of a drawer in your desk. Figured you wouldn’t mind.”

“Stay still.” Serena warned as one of Bernie's legs jerked with the application of the lotion. Serena bit her lip, voice soft. “I don’t mind. I love it.”

“You do?” Bernie asked, and Serena looked up and met her gaze. She grinned. Sometimes, Bernie could be such an idiot. She'd loved that garden sketch. Looked at it rather more times than she probably should have done. 

“You daft swot. Now, let me take **care** of this.”

“Bloody hell.” Bernie's head tilted back as she let out a whistle between her teeth, the feel of the cream a welcome contrast to the burning itching of the nettle stings. Serena didn't need to do this of course, Bernie could apply it to herself. It wasn't Serena's fault she'd fallen in the garden, and no doubt she was tired from her night shift. But Christ, if Serena's touch wasn't like _magic._

“Calm down, soldier,”  Serena quipped with a smirk, adding more of the cool lotion to Bernie's red knees.    
  


**+1**

_ Dear Bernie, _

_ I wrote you an email a few months ago. Back when we all thought you were dead. Except I didn’t, not then. It had only been a week. I thought you’d miraculously turn up in that impossible way you always do, say that a message got waylaid or you were only planning a surprise and ask what all the fuss was about. I had a feeling you see, in my heart. Turns out I was right. But I’d never been one to listen to my heart much; I think we were both failures in that regard. So I held Cameron and I sorted your memorial. I’m sure they’ve told you everything. _

_ I know we’ve never been one for the soppy, soulmate stuff. Though you have to admit, we’ve had our fair share of grand gestures. I don’t exactly know where we are now. I don’t know where you are. Cam says you’re well, and recovering. He says you go to St James’ for your outpatient appointments. Is it silly that that hurt me a little? I know you don’t owe me anything. I feel foolish even asking Cameron for updates. He showed me a picture of you two out for coffee last Saturday. It’s the first one I’d seen. He’s made it his wallpaper now. I hope you don’t still think you’re a bad mother after all of this. Your kids love you so much. _

_ Do you ask about me at all? I don’t know what I want that answer to be, to be truthful. That you do, and yet you don’t see me? Or that you don’t, and don’t care? _

_ I wish I could see you. Wish I had a right to see you. No doubt you’ll be with Alex, which is fine. She’s a lovely woman. Obviously she adores you. I can’t blame her. I wish you all the best with your engagement and your marriage. If it makes you happy, then I’m happy. It’s all I ever wanted for you, really. You deserve to be loved, without baggage, after everything you went through. _

_ I like to think that one day, we’ll see each other again. It’s obvious to me that you seem to be avoiding me like the plague, but maybe one day. At Cameron’s wedding in the far future? At a Holby Hospital shin-dig or a baby shower for Domonic. Maybe Donna will invite us both for a housewarming or Evie to her graduation from medical school in a few years time. I like to think that we’ll see each other, and we’ll just smile and remember the good times. Part like old friends, and not be those exes who everyone watches to see who is blushing. _

_ But God... Bernie. Why did you have to go missing? Why did you have to make me think you were dead? _

_ Why did you have to remind me how much I loved you? _

_ Yours, for eternity, _

_ Serena _


End file.
